


when you ride in the back you ride with sans

by Pandolphin



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: M/M, Other, because i couldn't figure out a way to end it without it getting really really sappy, guess what i still couldn't figure out lmao, this has been in my drafts for at least a year now
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-18
Updated: 2017-07-18
Packaged: 2018-12-03 17:17:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,516
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11536800
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pandolphin/pseuds/Pandolphin
Summary: “mtt, i'm just gonna need you to do one lil' thing for me. it's not a big deal, i promise. just something so i know you'll really look out for pap.”Sans knew he had a look in his eye sockets that could make people shiver, and while he didn't particularly want to use it on Mettaton when he'd done no wrong, it was a must for the set up. He would be forgiven, he was sure. Mettaton got his sense of humor. “i think you'll be up to the challenge.”aka, "Mettaton Tells The Cheerio Joke To Earn Papyrus' Hand In Marriage"





	when you ride in the back you ride with sans

**Author's Note:**

> hi this is the first thing i'm posting on ao3 i reeeeeally hope i'm understanding how posting works lmao please bear with me

“welp, come on.” said Sans with a shrug, plopping himself onto the plush armchair. “take a seat, you two.”

Papyrus did as he was told, and took a seat on the couch—the one closest to his brother, because even though he was sure nothing bad would happen it never hurt to be sure, just in case—while Mettaton, on the other hand, looked at the remaining spot, and clicked his tongue.

Papyrus let out a quiet, quizzical “NYEH?” to the action, but Sans took no offense, and instead laughed. “sorry, mtt. you'll forgive us for not being in your style this once, right?”

“That isn't the problem here, and you know it.” A moment passed, and when no one spoke, Mettaton sighed. “Sans.”

“that's me, beautiful.”

Without missing a beat, Mettaton reached down and lifted the sofa cushion, pulling from underneath it a standard, inflated pink whoopee cushion. He held it pinched by the nozzle between his thumb and fore finger, and looked back to Sans with a wry smile and a raised brow.

“Honestly, how long have we known each other now? You'll have to try a little harder than _that_.”

Sans' eternal grin seemed to falter just the slightest bit, but he had to concede, at least to himself: the chances of Mettaton catching onto that prank were admittedly pretty good at this point. He shrugged. “meh. a thirty percent output is my limit.”

“SANS!” Papyrus had been quiet up till now, almost uncharacteristically so (nerves, most likely), but seeing Mettaton disarm the almost prank caused that thoughtful expression on his skull to turn into an expression one could only describe as 'exceptionally scandalized'. “TO THINK, MY OWN BONE AND MARROW WOULD STOOP SO LOW. ON SUCH AN IMPORTANT OCCASION!”

“aw, c'mon pap, he's not mad about it.”

“THAT'S NOT THE POINT! YOU STILL TRIED TO DO IT. AND YOU DIDN'T EVEN PUT MUCH EFFORT INTO THAT! THAT WOULD BE ONE THING IF IT WERE JUST ME, BUT METTATON IS OUR GUEST!”

“hey, i was working on short notice. you gotta give me some time beforehand if you want top quality.”

“We give you enough opportunities on any day of the week.” Mettaton cut in smoothly, the whoopee cushion pressed between two gloved hands. His face still straight and composed, he pressed into the toy, not at all deterred by the obnoxious _pbbbbbt!_ that followed, and when the cushion was empty and flat, he tossed it back to Sans. “You could spare us an afternoon.”

Sans caught the deflated cushion, and shoved it back into his coat pocket. It would have its time yet. “i could. doesn't mean i will, but i could.”

“Well, seeing as we're all here, I think you'll have to indulge us a little.” The couch cushion back to its proper place, Mettaton took his seat next to Papyrus—close, but not too close. Just in case.

“alright, alright, twist my arm why don't ya.”

“PLEASE DON'T DO THAT. THIS REALLY DOESN'T NEED TO TURN INTO ANOTHER 'POP GOES THE SKELETON'S LIMBS BACK INTO HIS JOINTS' DEBACLE.”

Mettaton held back a titter, and brought one hand to Papyrus' back, rubbing it gently and soothingly. “Darling, I'm sorry, but that last time really _was_ your fault.”

Papyrus turned to his right, facing Mettaton with an exasperated look. “BUT YOU MADE THAT POSE LOOK SO EASY! AND IF YOU CAN DO IT, CERTIANLY I CAN TOO!”

“Yes, of course, but you still need to do the stretches! Not preparing is why your leg went sailing.”

“BUT THAT WOULD HAVE TAKEN TOO LONG! CREATIVITY AND PERSISTENCE ARE THE MOTHERS OF INVENTION.”

“Beauty is pain, Papy.”

“BUT--”

“Stooooop, you're derailing the whole talk!” Mettaton was laughing freely now, both hands on Papyrus' skull trying to push him back to focus. He only laughed harder when Papyrus tried to do the same to him in his own fit of laughter, the conversation at hand was almost entirely forgotten.

Sans watched the whole thing unfold in quiet amusement. “heh heh.” Ah, to be young once. “y'know, not that i mind all, but, uh. i gotta ask.”

Papyrus and Mettaton froze in their playfighting, laughter dying in their lips and each casting their own nervous looks to Sans; Papyrus had somehow squished Mettaton's cheeks together in a slight pucker, and Mettaton had already begun to lift one leg in retaliation.

“...YEEEES?”

“Go on, Sans.”

And on did Sans go, raising one hand in a bemused gesture as he continued. “why'd you guys wanna have this talk in the first place? cause i mean... it's a nice gesture and all, sure. but it looks like you're getting along just as fine as you always did. so what's the deal?”

Slowly the pair lowered their hands and their gazes, and the silence that followed was near stifling. Occasionally, a quiet breath would escape Mettaton, as though he was about to speak, but fell short. Papyrus' fingers drummed out an anxious _tum-tum-tum_ against his femur, and his jaw remained tightly shut.

Sans almost regretted asking. If he knew a genuine question like that would get that kind of reaction, he would have kept his mouth shut and taken a nap until they remembered he was still there. Everybody won that way. But mostly him.

Finally, Papyrus sat up to speak. “THAT'S--”

“I wanted to do it.”

Mettaton's voice cut through, clear and unexpected, and in an instant Papyrus had turned back towards him, brow furrowed in concern. “METTATON, YOU DON'T HAVE TO. I CAN HANDLE THE TALKING.”

“As considerate and tempting as that offer is, sweetheart, shush. It's okay. It wouldn't change that it was still my idea.” Mettaton smiled at Papyrus, sugar sweet and bright, and took one large red hand between his own. He took a deep breath the room at large knew he did not need, and turned back to Sans, his expression nothing short of determined. “I wanted to do this because it's the proper thing to do.”

Sans cocked an eye ridge, curious by Mettaton's sudden demeanor, but respecting how serious he was taking it. “asking me for my blessing, you mean?”

“Mm, well, that's not _wrong_ , per se, but it is a little strong for this. This is more like, 'making my intentions known', I'd say.”

“the intention being, you wanna date my bro.”

Mettaton's lips pursed, and the paneling on his face lit just the slightest pink—the LED lights built in his face a robot's answer to a blush. “Yes, that is the intention.”

Sans felt a laugh coming on, but held it back, and settled on a teasing wink instead. “heheh, calm down, mtt. just checking we're on the same page still.”

“IF IT MAKES ANY DIFFERENCE...” Papyrus interjected, trying to be sure nothing started between the two before it began. “WHEN METTATON SUGGESTED WE DO THIS, I INSISTED WE GO TO NAPSTABLOOK FIRST.”

“oh yeah? you went to see naps, papyrus?” That was actually something pretty interesting, considering his brother and Mettaton's cousin were far beyond just polar opposites. It must've been to prepare themselves for Sans and whatever he had to say. Which was... huh. Were they really _that_ freaked out about what he might say? Weird. “that must've been. uh. something.”

“EVEN I MUST ADMIT--IT WAS VERY NERVE-WRACKING! BUT IT WAS A MUST THAT I MADE A GOOD IMPRESSION ON THEM. THE GREAT PAPYRUS COULD SETTLE FOR NO LESS!” Papyrus lifted his hand—the one still in Mettaton's grasp, causing the latter to snort—in a triumphant statement, but the moment was short lived, and he soon became contemplative on the matter. “ALTHOUGH... I WORRY IF I MIGHT HAVE COME ON TOO STRONGLY.”

Mettaton moved one hand away from Papyrus', to wipe away some trace of a tear from the corner of his visible eye. “Papyrus, _Undyne_ of all people is our next door neighbor. There's nothing you could have done that would have come on stronger than that.”

Papyrus paused to consider this, and then opened his mouth again. Mettaton swiftly pressed a finger to his teeth. “That wasn't a challenge, darling.”

Papyrus sneered quietly, and shut his jaw. Mettaton chuckled to himself.

“he's right, bro. i'm sure they liked ya.” Sans offered, again subtly reminding the couple that, hey, he _was_ still here yanno. “you're nice to everybody. and naps has always been pretty shy.”

“It _is_ in our nature, for the most part. Ghosts are a quiet sort of monster, with exceptions here and there.” The biggest one in the room being Mettaton himself, of course, but he didn't seem like he was about to open that can of snails, so Sans wasn't going to press further. “But Blooky did like Papyrus, I promise. And they were very glad to meet him properly and have everything explained to them, so... it wouldn't have been right to leave it at that.”

“just with them, you mean?”

“You're as much family to Papyrus as Napstablook is to me, Sans. And just as important.” Mettaton's eyes turned downcast, and the hand still holding Papyrus' laced its white gloved fingers around red ones. “Mind you, even if you didn't approve, it wouldn't stop me. I wouldn't be where I am now if I let what other people think of me keep me from doing what I want, but--”

“mtt, you being worried about what people think of you is, like. your entire origin story.”

“ _But_ \--” Mettaton's suddenly stern voice earned him an apologetic chuckle from Sans. “--I don't want to make it seem as though I'm going behind your back. I want to be upfront about this from the word go.”

“...alright then.” Sans leaned back in his chair, flexed his fingers, and shrugged. “soooo, go.”

And boy oh boy did Mettaton go.

“I want to date Papyrus. I am going to date Papyrus. I am going to date the ever living heck out of him, and if there's still any leftover heck hiding around in there I will most certainly smooch it out of him. Not on the first date, mind you, because he and I are monsters of class and standards, and smooching on the first date is usually not a very classy move, but you get the point. I'm not going to hide it from the public, and yes, when the paparazzi sees Papyrus they are going to have a field day, but if one so much as glances in his general direction wrong, I will stop the car, go straight up to the press and so help me God the laws of both lands be damned I will pull off my own arm and--”

“OOOOKAY, THAT'S ENOUGH!” Skull bright orange, Papyrus wrenched his hand free from Mettaton's nervous hold, and quickly covered his mouth with it. Mettaton's cheeks lit pink again, having only realized then the tangent he had started, and the room was silent again for a time before Papyrus found his words again.

“THAT... OH, BOY, THAT WAS. UM.” Alright, so he didn't quite have them, or at least hadn't gotten them through the flustered barrier. “I... W-WELL! AS YOU CAN CLEARLY SEE, SANS, METTATON IS VERY SERIOUS ABOUT THIS. AND VERY PASSIONATE ABOUT ME! JUST AS I AM HIM! AS ANYONE WOULD EXPECT FROM MONSTERS OF OUR CALIBER, NATURALLY.”

“you're tellin' me, pap. that was... well. that sure happened.” In all honesty, Sans hadn't been expecting something so... plain, he supposed was the best way to put it, from Mettaton. He expected something flowery and long winded and dramatic, but no. That had been very point blank, just as had been promised.

It really did go to show just how serious Mettaton was about being with Papyrus, that he would put aside his own tendencies just to make that point clear, and as his brother, it was hard for Sans not to take some kind of pride in that. Papyrus had found someone that cared about him just as much as Sans did—and in ways Sans couldn't. Sure, the fact that it was Mettaton of all people was still a little... odd, but hey. They'd lived through stranger things by now. Who was Sans to judge? This scenario, at least?

Still. None of this didn't mean Sans couldn't have some fun with this situation and their cautious behavior regardless. At least at Papyrus' expense. His brother would forgive him. Maybe.

“i hear ya loud and clear, mtt. i get what you're trying to say, and i appreciate it.”

Neither of the pair on the couch appeared to have been expecting that to be so easy, and when Papyrus didn't move his hand fast enough, Mettaton pulled it down for it. “You... really?”

“really.” Sans closed his eyes and nodded, almost sagely. “seriously, it's my bro. can't blame you for falling madly in love with a guy that cool. you guys can do you, i trust ya.”

Mettaton looked off to the side innocently, cheeks glowing pink and a soft _whirrr_ sounding from his chassis. Papyrus, for all his bravado, scratched idly at his own orange cheekbones, bashfully letting out a few soft “NYEH HEH HEH”s.

“buuuuuuut.”

The good feeling was almost instantly over. Mettaton's expression turned concerned all over again, the artificial color draining from his face, while Papyrus lowered his head into his hands.

“OH MY GOD.” He groaned. “TELL ME THIS ISN'T A BIG FAT STINKY BUT.”

“the biggest and the stinkiest.” Oh yeah, this was gonna be fun. “mtt, i'm just gonna need you to do one lil' thing for me. it's not a big deal, i promise. just something so i know you'll _really_ look out for pap.”

Sans knew he had a look in his eye sockets that could make people shiver, and while he didn't particularly want to use it on Mettaton when he'd done no wrong, it was a must for the set up. He would be forgiven, he was sure. Mettaton got his sense of humor. “i think you'll be up to the challenge.”

Mettaton, from the corner of his eye, glanced down to Papyrus, but he wasn't able to completely break away from Sans' intense gaze. The fan in his chassis buzzed louder as the pressure stacked on. “I... y-yes, of course. What is it, Sans?”

To this, Sans leaned forward, almost conspiratorially, grin hidden behind his folded fingers. “mtt. i need you...”

Pause for effect. Again, he was sure Mettaton would appreciate it in the long run.

“...to tell me the best worst joke you can think of.”

Oh, hell yeah, _nailed it_.

The results were immediate, as far as Mettaton's reaction was concerned; the whirring of his internal fan instantly stopped, and his face of fear fell to one completely blank. Papyrus was a bit slower to the uptake; while he did still as Sans spoke, it wasn't for a good minute until he finally rose back up in his seat, posture and face contorted in pure exasperation. “ _SANS._ ”

“no, bro, listen. i got a line of logic behind this.” It was hard not to smile, to laugh at all this, but honestly now, what else did Papyrus expect out of him? “we're all making our ways out in the surface, and, well. let's face it. i'm always gonna be there for you, but i'm not always gonna be right _next_ to you. i gotta pass the torch to somebody someday.”

“IS THAT WHAT THIS IS ABOUT? _REALLY?_ YOUR ONLY QUALM ABOUT ME DATING METTATON IS WHETHER OR NOT HE'S CAPABLE OF ANNOYING ME WITH BAD JOKES WHEN YOU'RE NOT AROUND.”

“duh. and since the whoopee cushion didn't go to plan, we haven't filled the joke quota for the day. i got a reputation to keep up, pap. quantity over quality.”

“THIS HARDLY NEEDED ALL THE DRAMATIC TENSION YOU LAYERED ONTO IT! YOU HONEY-BAKED HAMBONE! WHAT WAS EVEN THE POINT OF--”

“Is length an issue?”

Sans' and Papyrus' bickering was never something that ever really needed mediating, so when they got into it, no one ever really paid it much mind and went about their own business. Mettaton had been no exception, keeping as quiet during the exchange as he had been, but the question cut both brothers short. There was some sort of untapped fear resting in Papyrus' eye sockets, and Sans' smile twitched just the slightest bit upward at the corner. “...come again?”

“The length of the joke. Does it matter how long it is?” Mettaton offered the clarification with a wave of the hand. “I can certainly tell a joke either way, but I have a feeling you're going to know any one-liners I already have.”

“METTATON, NO.” Papyrus' plea came out a desperate, hushed whisper. “I BEG YOU, DON'T ENCOURAGE HIM. HE'S GOING TO TAKE WHATEVER YOU SAY AND USE IT AGAINST ME LATER WHEN I LEAST EXPECT IT. LIKE A COBRA STRIKE OF DEATH! WHERE DEATH COMES IN THE FORM OF TERRIBLE POPSICLE STICK JOKES, AND THE COBRA IS A LONG ROLL OF PLAY-DOH, SLAPPING ME UNRELENTINGLY IN THE FACE.”

“Ohh, Papy, darling, you're exaggerating! He's not _that_ bad.”

“YOU ONLY SAY THAT BECAUSE YOU DON'T _LIVE_ WITH HIM! BUT _I_ DO! AND I CAN SAY FOR CERTAIN, THAT MY BROTHER IS A JOKE-MONGERING GREMLIN.”

“hey man, a gremlin? that's harsh. i'm at least a bridge troll.” Besides, there was no definite guarantee that Sans would use the same joke on Papyrus—only if Papyrus walked into it himself. Variety was key here. “but anyway, length. you think you got a good long one, mtt?”

“I don't just think. I know. You were the one who wanted me to rise up to the occasion here, Sans.” But here Mettaton turned contemplative, leaning back into the couch with his hand on his chin, eyeing up Sans as if debating something. “Although... I wonder if you're going to be able to actually _handle_ the cereal joke. Both in hearing it and retelling it.”

“'the cereal joke'?” Sans repeated the name with poorly hidden interest. “this joke is so good it's even got it's own name?”

Loathe to see where this was all heading as he was, Papyrus was also growing curious. “YOU PREPARED AN ARMS LENGTH JOKE ABOUT CEREAL?”

“Oh, no no no, darling, _I_ didn't make up this joke, much as I'd like to take credit. I actually heard it from Corinne.”

“that makes sense. she does know how to meme with the best of 'em.”

“Well naturally, I could only choose the finest of memers to be my personal assistant—but I digress. As innocent as it sounds, the cereal joke _does_ have some severe side effects, and it should _not_ be told unless the joke teller is able to remain serious and committed throughout the entire joke telling.”

“come on, mtt, you've seen my stage show. you greenlit it.” Mettaton was up to some weird game, but against Sans' better judgment, it was working. Sometimes he hated admitting the guy really was a great actor. “is there any better straight man than me? what _can't_ i handle?”

“Yes, I have and did, and no, there isn't any one better, I admit. But!” Mettaton raised a finger, his other hand gesturing this way and that as he spoke. “This joke is quite versatile. It can be used in many different occasions—liiike, at the dinner table with your family, or hanging out with a group of friends, or just shooting the breeze with anyone and everyone. All of whom most _certainly_ loved you or at least tolerated you _before_ you told the joke! This joke will get you places, Sans, I promise you that… but only if your audience doesn’t _kill_ you before you finish.”

Mettaton paused, and turned to Sans with an expectant face. “Do you still think you can handle a joke like this, Sans?”

“well, we're not gonna find out if we keep shooting the breeze like this.” Sans scooted back into the armchair, the lights in his eyes near sparkling with delight. “hit me, safety bot.”

“Safety Bot does not care about theoretical skeleton masochism. Safety Bot only cares about safety. But, alright.” Sitting up straight once more, Mettaton cleared his throat. He closed his eyes, and breathed in deeply, as though preparing himself for a long speech... and then paused.

“One more warning—a disclaimer, if you will. I cannot stress this enough, Sans, if you choose to tell this joke to the people closest to you, then you have to be _absolutely_ sure that they'll still accept you back in the house when you're done. If you tell the joke to friends, and they still want to be friends with you after the fact, then you better keep those folks around. I am risking Papyrus breaking up with me by the end of this joke, and subsequently me dying of a broken heart, _just_ by telling it to you.”

“FIRST OF ALL, THAT IS IMPOSSIBLE AND NOT GOING TO HAPPEN EVER.” Papyrus was firm on that point, at least. Good on you, bro. “SECOND, IF IT'S THAT HEAVY OF A JOKE, MAYBE YOU SHOULD JUST... TELL HIM A SMALLER ONE? OR JUST NOT TELL ONE AT ALL? THAT WOULD BE THE BEST CHOICE AS FAR AS I CAN TELL.”

“Sans issued me a challenge, sweetheart, and I never back down from a challenge. But I really can't start this joke without the forward. It just isn't done!” This was more of the flowery, filler sort of speech Sans had been expecting earlier. Glad to know Mettaton had some kind of control over the word reserve. “You _have_ to find the right audience for this joke. You _have_ to hype the joke up. Your audience should know that this is the best joke you’ve heard in a _really_ long time. You _have_ to have the audience well prepared and dancing in the palm of your hand before you can _think_ to--”

“dude.” Even Sans' patience could wear thin, and effective and funny as it was, Mettaton's obvious ploy to up the ante was beginning to grate. “for cryin' out loud, just. just tell me the damn joke already.”

Mettaton paused again, and after a moment's silence, nodded solemnly. “Alright. But remember, you’ve been warned.”

He closed his eyes, inhaled once more, and this time, began his joke for real.

“So. Imagine with me, if you will. There is a cereal box, and inside of this box, there are three levels of the Cereal Society. There's the top of the box, filled with the rich and ritzy cereals, who have the most scrumptious meals and the most fantastic houses; the middle of the box, filled with the average-class cereals, with an average life, average house, average family; and the bottom of the box, filled with the crumby cereals, with gang violence and crime in the neighborhoods. With me so far?”

Both bemused, the brothers nodded.  
  
“Lovely. So one day, our hero, a sad, poor cereal—let's call hiiiiiim... Joe, decided he wanted to end his ridiculous life at the bottom of the box. He marched right up into the average level of the box, and went inside an average restaurant. The average waiter said, “Hey! You’re a poor cereal! You’re not allowed in here!” And with that, he kicked Joe out.  
  
“Discouraged, Joe returned home to the lower levels. But that night, he snuck up back into the average level, found an average, abandoned home, and moved into it! The next day, he lived his new, average life. His job was average, his house and family were average, everything was average. A vast improvement overall. But, after about a week or so, he started hearing the joyous sounds of the rich cereals, eating their rich meals and bathing in their rich pools. And so, Joe decided he needed to end this average life, and become rich.  
  
“Joe went about his plan in the same way as before; he walked up to the Rich levels, and sat down in a rich, 5 star restaurant. The rich waiter said “Sir, you cannot dine here! Average cereals are not allowed!" And with that, he kicked him out. Discouraged again, Joe returned home to his average house, but just like before, he snuck into the upper levels in the night, and found a rich house whose owner had recently passed away. After bringing his stuff up, he moved in.  
  
“The rich life was fantastic. Joe's job paid well, he had big screen TVs, a pool, and a huge house. The morning after he moved in, he went to have breakfast at the 5 star restaurant he'd been to before. The rich waiter said--” And here, Mettaton started to improvise his own voices for the story. “--“Good morning, sir. What would you like to eat?” “Well, what do you have?” replied Joe. “On our menu, we have an omelet, made with vegetables straight from our garden, and the egg of finest hen! Would you enjoy that?” asked the waiter. “No, thank you. What else is there?” “Well, we have the freshest fruit straight off of the vine, picked this morning, actually. Would you enjoy that?” “No, thank you, what else is there?” “We also have the best blueberry pancakes you have ever eaten. Homemade, hot off the griddle. Would you enjoy that?” “Yes, please, I’ll have the pancakes!” replied one hungry Joe. “Of course, sir. Just step into the pancake line and enjoy your breakfast!” And with that, the waiter took off, and Joe went into line to order his delicious pancakes.”

“uh, mtt?” Sans cut in, his smile and tone awkward. “not trying to doubt you or anything, but... are you sure this is a joke?”

“UNFORTUNATELY, I _DO_ HAVE TO DOUBT.” Papyrus couldn't have hoped to hide the confusion on his face, anyway. “THIS ALL JUST SOUNDS LIKE A FAIRLY NORMAL STORY ABOUT CEREAL IDENTITY THEFT.”

“Shush, both of you. I'm almost done. Now where was... ah! Right, dinner.” Mettaton smiled, assured of himself, and continued. “At dinnertime, Joe came back to the restaurant. The waiter, once again, came up and asked him what he would like to eat for dinner. “What is there to eat?" Joe asked. “Well, we have the finest steak. Crispy on the outside, juicy on the inside. It’s delicious. Would you like that?” “No thank you, what else is there?” “Well, we have the best pizza you have ever eaten, with ingredients imported straight from Italy. Would you like that?” “Yes, I would love to have some pizza!” replied Joe. “Of course, sir. Just step into the Pizza line and enjoy your dinner!” And with that, the waiter took off, and Joe went in line to order his amazing pizza.”

Again, Mettaton paused, and gave a knowing wink to his audience of two. “Hold tight, boys, we're in the home stretch.”

“are you just doing this on purpose now?”  
  
“I'm sorry, _who_ interrupted me first? You said you wanted the long one, Sans.” Sans conceded the point with a grumble, and Mettaton prepared for the finale. “As Joe was eating, the waiter came over again. “Is there anything you would like to drink, sir?” he asked. “Yes, what do you have?” “Well, we have a pitcher of the purest, clearest mineral water. Would you like that?” “No, thank you. What else is there?” “Well, we have a tasty mix of Cole and Bepsi. It’s quite delicious. Would you like that?” “No, thank you. What else is there?” “Well, we have the sweetest fruit punch you have ever had. It’s so tangy, and always made fresh. Would you like that?” “Yes, please, I’ll have the fruit punch! Where might the line be?” “Well...””

Mettaton made move to say something else, but seemed to decide against it, and fell silent, his only answer a smile.

There was a moment, between Sans and Papyrus, where each brother looked back and forth from one another, to Mettaton, to one another again, hoping for some kind of answer for the sudden silence. For some kind of clarification, closure, anything. When a minute had passed, Papyrus seemed more than content to leave the chips as they lay—leaving it unfinished meant one less joke for Sans to abuse—but Sans couldn't leave a mystery like that unsolved. He was promised a joke, damn it.

“...'well'?” Sans finally asked. “'well', _what_?”

The grin Mettaton gave him was saccharine sweet, and through a brief flash of his canines, wholeheartedly vicious. It would have made his blood run cold, if Sans had any.

“Well, sir,” Mettaton said, “There is no punch-line.”

There was silence. Longer than any pause this talk had caused, an unbearable silence one could feel in the air, dragging down one's soul. No laughter, no semblance of a curse, nothing. And all the while, aside Papyrus' bug-eyed stupor and Sans' dark, empty sockets, there was Mettaton, examining what would have been fingernails on one hand and looking _entirely_ too pleased with himself.

“...WELL.” Papryus broke the silence with a loud clap of his hands, already very clearly struggling for words, but even floundering with his vocabulary was better than letting the tension rise. “I BELIEVE WE'RE ALL THINKING THE SAME THING.” One red gloved hand rose to stroke his jaw thoughtfully. “HOW CAN WE DEAL WITH THESE UNSETTLING FEELINGS STIRRED WITHIN US...?”

“mettaton.” Sans spoke suddenly, the emotions behind his voice unreadable. “did you just take up 10 minutes of my life to tell me a joke with no punch line.”

Mettaton, unshaken, did not look up, content to simply flick an imaginary speck of dust off his thumb. “Yes.”

Sans was up and on his feet as soon as the word had left Mettaton's mouth, and he kept his face turned to the ground as he stepped forward. That, if nothing else, got Mettaton's attention, and he watched Sans shuffle towards him, attentive but cautious.

But when Sans suddenly placed his hands on Mettaton's shoulders, and Mettaton tensed once more, Papyrus shot up to intervene. “SANS--”

“mettaton. buddy. you...” Sans's head had drooped down even further, and his bones were trembling ever so slightly, quietly rattling as if to announce the coming storm.

Mettaton bit his lip. “Meeee...?”

“yeah, you... you just...”

Sans lifted his head. Blue tears were brimming at his eye sockets, and his smile, already impossibly wide, seemed to have grown twice its size.

“you just earned yourself papyrus' hand in marriage.”

“OKAY, _WHAT?_ ”

This was the straw that fully and finally broke Mettaton--or at least his confident farce, because as soon as Sans' declaration had registered, the lights in his cheeks lit up brighter and hotter than they had the entire sitting, and his laugh, while still very Mettaton, was very clearly flustered. “Ahhhhhaha, that. T-Thaaaaat's moving a bit fast here, don't you think, Sansy?”

“nope. you did it, man. congration, you done papy.” Sans pulled back one hand, wiping away bright blue tears with his sleeve. Whether or not he was hamming it up or if all this was genuine was impossible to tell. “great uncle helvetica would be proud.”

“Alright, Sans, you've made your point, the teasing can stop--”

“you know, i always thought you were like another bro to me, but now the dream is real.”

“Sans--”

“name your first kid after me, okay? i want this in writing. even if it's a girl. aw, man, can you imagine that, a lil' sansica! or sans sara? sansumi? come on, dude, i need some feedback here--”

“OOOOKAY, THAT'S QUITE ENOUGH!” With moves more frantic than usual, an orange-faced Papyrus tore Sans away from Mettaton's shoulders, pulling the latter up and beginning to push him to the door. “THANK YOU VERY MUCH FOR TAKING THE TIME TO TALK, SANS, BUT METTATON AND I HAVE VERY IMPORTANT PLACES TO BE AND I DON'T WANT TO KEEP ANYONE WAITING ANY LONGER!”

“you're takin' him to undyne's so you guys can do that drunk cooking show thing, aren't you?”

“IMPORTANT PLACES!!! WHERE WE ARE NEEDED!!!” He'd gotten Mettaton out the door now, and Snowdin's cold air blew in behind them. “WE'LL BE GOING NOW!”

“Wait, wait, wait!” Papyrus' hands still on his back, Mettaton leaned back in through the doorway, and looked at Sans thoughtfully. “Seriously, to make up for all that. Do you want a shorter joke?”

Sans shrugged. “why not? shoot.”

“Did you hear about the fish that got a PhD in neuroscience?”

“certified brain sturgeon.”

Immediately exasperated, Mettaton flung his hands into the air, and stomped out the door himself without another word.

Sans laughed. “well, he tried.”

“YOU'RE NOT GOING TO PULL SOMETHING LIKE THAT AGAIN, ARE YOU?” Papyrus rested one hand on the doorknob, eyeing his brother suspiciously. “IF METTATON'S ABLE TO DROP BY FOR GYFTMAS THIS YEAR, I DON'T WANT IT TO END IN TRAGEDY.”

“nah, nah. not unless he wants to swap material. tragedy plus time equals comedy, y'know. but he played along with it like a pro, and i gotta admit--guy got me pretty good with that cereal thing.”

“NATURALLY! HE IS A PROFESSIONAL, AFTER ALL.”

“that he is.” Sans gave a small nod to the door. “you two might wanna get going, though. being out in the cold is bad for machines. too long, and they can lockup real bad.”

Sans was, of course, certain that Alphys had the foresight for such a thing in building Mettaton's body, but knowing Papyrus, and the way his eye sockets lit up in alarm, it could never hurt to be too safe in that regard. He'd raised one leg, almost comically so, ready to barrel after Mettaton without a second thought. Good thing Sans had plenty of those to spare for them both.

“wait, bro.”

“SANS, YOU LITERALLY JUST TOLD ME TO--”

“i know, and you still should. but, y'know. i gotta say it every time you do something big.” There was a pregnant pause, silence filled only with the sound of Sans' slipper shuffling on the carpet. After a moment, he sighed.

“make good choices, papyrus.” And here, Sans winked. “but if you ask me, i think you already made a pretty good one.”

Papyrus said nothing, but the way he beamed at his brother's words did all the talking for him, and with a grateful nod he ran out the door—more gently, than he might have at first—into Snowdin's cold air where Mettaton waited for him.

 

* * *

 

“Do you really think Undyne meant it when she said she wanted me back for another round?”

“CONSIDERING YOU BEING THERE NOT ONLY RESULTED IN EDIBLE FOOD, BUT ALSO NO ACCIDENTAL ARSON, I'D HAVE TO SAY YES!”

“True, but she was also pretty far gone—at least a lot more than us. Can you really say that'll hold up past a mind-splitting hangover?”

“WITHOUT A DOUBT!” Papyrus gave their joined hands a slight squeeze, which Mettaton reciprocated. “SHE LIKES YOU A LOT MORE THAN SHE LETS ON, I KNOW. I COULDN'T SAY IF IT'S ENOUGH TO WARRANT A FLATTERY SUPLEX YET, BUT UNDYNE PLAYS IT UP A LOT. I WOULDN'T WORRY. JUST GIVE IT TIME.”

 

“Mmm.” Mettaton rested his head against Papyrus' as they waited—one of the few downsides to being so tall, but it would take a lot more than height to keep him from showing affection. “I'll take your word for it, darling.”

“I AM OFTEN RIGHT ABOUT THESE THINGS.” Papyrus took a quick glance down the river bend; the river person's ferry wasn't a long walk from Undyne's house, so the longer it took for them to get here, the longer he could stay here and keep talking to Mettaton. The preferable outcome, clearly.

Mettaton's lean faltered just the slightest bit, enough to bump Papyrus over an inch or two, but not enough to knock him over. “...ARE YOU ALRIGHT, METTATON? IS YOUR BATTERY CHARGED ENOUGH FOR THE RIDE HOME?”

“Oh, yes, Papy, I'm alright. Did I startle you?”

“A BIT.” There was no need to put up so much of a bravado around him; if Mettaton was this comfortable around him, it only made sense for Papyrus to return the gesture. “IT'S RARE TO SEE YOU SO TIRED. WOULD YOU LIKE ME TO SEE YOU HOME?”

“Oh, well, you know I would _love_ that.” Mettaton's tired laugh sounded like tiny bells. It was one of the prettiest sounds Papyrus ever heard. “But really, I'll be alright. Besides, I've kept you from Frisk long enough for one day.”

“THEY DID THINK THIS WAS A GOOD IDEA, THOUGH. AND HEY, THERE'S PLENTY OF ME TO GO AROUND!”

“Mmm, true, true that. On both accounts.” Mettaton sighed, contentedly, and Papyrus recounted his earlier thought, _that_ was one of the prettiest sounds he'd ever heard. “It's just... been a long day, is all. I tell you, you don't realize how relieving it is to feel a weight off your shoulders when you don't _have_ shoulders.”

“THE TALK WITH SANS IS FULLY SETTING IN, I TAKE IT?”

“Something like that. It all went so _smoothly_ , I'm still a little shocked. Sans and I are pretty good friends... well, _I_ think so, at least, but still. You _are_ his little baby bones. How could I not have been worried?”

“BECAUSE HE TRUSTS YOU?”

Mettaton raised a brow.

“...BECAUSE HE TRUSTS YOU _ENOUGH_?”

“That'll do, babe, that'll do.” Mettaton raised a hand, and poked Papyrus gently on his nasal cavity with a smile. Papyrus batted the hand away gently, and the two fell into another quiet giggling fit.

Tired laughter faded into the sound of lapping water, growing louder and louder, and it wasn't long before the river person came into view around the bend. It was with great reluctance, Papyrus noted, that Mettaton lifted his head from the top of Papyrus' skull, though he could understand why. Mettaton always had appearances on the mind—with every right to do so, of course, he was always in the spotlight, and not everyone, human or monster, is always so kind seeing someone so affluent in a moment of weakness, per se. But at least he wasn't so concerned that unhooked their hands. It was the little things that counted.

The river person came to a stop at Waterfall's ferry line, and their hooded head lifted up to meet the pair. “Tra la la. Hello again, Mettaton.”

“Hello again, my good person.” Mettaton returned the gesture with a small wave, and passed what appeared to be (but knowing him, most likely wasn't) a small amount of G to the river person's robed hands. They never asked for fare, but it wasn't like Mettaton not to give thanks where thanks was due. Just another one of the things that made him so _great_ in Papyrus' eyes. “It's time for me to head home.”

“To Hotland we go, tra la la. Whenever you're ready.”

Papyrus helped Mettaton onto the boat as best he could, and Mettaton stepped onto the ferry with as much grace as his tired body would allow—which was still to his credit quite a lot of grace, and still allowed for their hands to be joined, and before he took his seat, Mettaton looked back up to Papyrus with the sleepy lovestruck look in his eyes that Papyrus had seen so often on TV and never _once_ imagined would directed at _him_ and oh my God there goes his other hand in Mettaton's _this is the best day ever_ \--

“I'll send you a text when I'm home and plugged in, alright? I don't want you up all night worrying about me.”

“THAT—I'M ALWAYS GOING TO WORRY ABOUT YOU AT LEAST A _LITTLE_ , METTATON, NO MATTER WHAT.I CAN'T NOT DO THAT.” Impressive, Papyrus thought, that he was still speaking rationally while simultaneously _living the dream_. “BUT... HEARING FROM YOU WOULD STILL BE NICE, YES. JUST DON'T LET _ME_ KEEP _YOU_ UP, EITHER.”

“Impossible. You're running through my mind all the time.”

“MMMMM!!!” How was Mettaton so _good_ at that! He was playing unfair, as was natural to him--but Papyrus knew a few tricks of his own by now, and he looked at his boyfriend (boyfriend! _boyfriend!!!_ ) dead on.

“W...W-WELL!” He did his best not to crack under the confused look Mettaton returned him. “IF THAT'S THE CASE, THEN THERE'S NO EXCUSE FOR YOU _NOT_ TO GET ANY REST. BECAUSE I'LL BE IN YOUR _DREAMS_ ALL NIGHT LONG.”

Mettaton's lips parted slightly in surprise, and the lights in his cheeks burned bright in stunned silence... and then he laughed. He laughed unchained and wholeheartedly, still tired but it was so _himself_ and not just him putting on airs and Papyrus recounted his recount, _that_ was the best sound he'd ever heard.

“Oh... Oh, Papy.” Mettaton's laughs died down and his face turned rather bashful but his smile was still there, and he pressed his smiling lips down on the knuckles of Papyrus's hands. “My Papyrus.”

Well, there wasn't much else to do about it, as far as Papyrus saw. He leaned down and returned Mettaton's gesture with a light press of his teeth on the crown of his hair, bone meeting metal in a soft 'bonk'. “GOOD NIGHT... MY METTATON.”

“Ah... yes, yes, you're right. Good night, darling.”

The world right now wasn't just them, unfortunately, and it would be rude to just have the river person stand there waiting (also, kind of weird, in retrospect? they should figure out better placess to part, Papyrus, thought), so Mettaton finally took the initiative, and let go of Papyrus' hands. Papyrus let those white gloved fingers slip through his red ones without complaint. It wouldn't be long before he got to hold them again, he knew, and he was a patient skeleton; he'd miss the feeling all the while, certainly, but he--

 

_PBBBBBBBBBBT!_

 

That had certainly gotten Papyrus to snap back to reality, and when he looked to where the sound came from—to _Mettaton_ —it looked like the noise had woken up him as well. Even the river person seemed a little spooked by the sound; their oar bumped against the boat uncharacteristically for one so contained.

It didn't take a genius to figure out what the sound was, though. Luckily for Papyrus, that was exactly what he was, but he really, _really_ did not want his suspicions to be correct. “...I SWEAR—”

“Oh, I'd _swear_ , sweetheart—” Eyes trained on the cavern ahead and expression unreadable, Mettaton reached under his seat and pulled out the perpetrator—a standard, pink whoopee cushion, this time even complete with a winky face written sloppily on its side. “—but my standards won't let me.”

Papyrus was not going to yell. Yes, the mood had been completely ruined and yes he had every right to yell but he was not going to because he was a considerate and composed skeleton and knew better than to make a scene this late at night. Instead, he took a deep breath, and turned to the river person. “...DID MY BROTHER TAKE A RIDE EARLIER?”

The river person paused to think, and gave but one sheepish nod. “I... did not even notice he did that. Tra la la.”

“HE IS RATHER GOOD AT THAT.” Papyrus took another breath, and nursed his temples between two fingers. He should have known Sans wouldn't have given up that easily; where he focused his efforts had never been in proper order, to put it gently. But really, really, would it have killed him to read the atmosphere every now and then?!

Then again, knowing Sans, that was probably the point.

“Papyrus?”

Mettaton's voice was sudden, and when Papyrus looked back to him, he had one hand holding the now deflated cushion out for Papyrus to take. His other hand covered his face, say for a wry, exasperated smile—but then he flashed that canine again, and one fuchsia eye peeked through his fingers.

“ _Avenge me_.”

Papyrus paused only for a moment, but soon enough nodded solemnly, and took the cushion from Mettaton with both hands. “I WON'T LET YOU DOWN.”

“You couldn't if you tried, doll.”

It was on that note that the river person decided now was the time to leave, and the pair parted hands much more promptly than before. “Sorry for the trouble, tra la la. Good luck with revenge.”

 "MUCH APPRECIATED.” And off the boat went, the river person paddling perhaps just the slightest bit faster than normal, and Mettaton in the back, face still in his hand, laughing and shaking his head.

Papyrus stayed at the river's edge until the boat was gone. Mettaton wasn't _truly_ mad, he knew, he and Sans had a mutual respect about one-upping the other like that, and he wouldn't (likely) hold a grudge over the prank. But a request for vengeance was still a request for vengeance, and Papyrus was a man of his word. Revenge would come, and it would come when Sans least expected it.

And all it would take was access to Toriel's recycle bin and a few bottles of sriracha.

**Author's Note:**

> my tumblr is heir-conditioning and my ut specific tumblr is princessmtt come scream with me about papyton


End file.
